It's Not That
by EudaimonArisornae
Summary: Sanji brings Zoro to a nudey booth. Zoro isn't really into the show, but he is interested in something... (Oneshot, Zoro/Sanji)


Title: It's Not That

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece.

Warnings: Sexual content, explicit references

* * *

"Oi, shit-cook."

Zoro had only made it three steps into the building, but he could already see this place was sketchy as hell. He turned to glare at Sanji, his forehead crinkling. "What the hell is this place?"

Actually, Zoro didn't really care what kind of place it was, or what the fuck that idiot love-cook did in his free time. But he did need to know why the hell Sanji was bringing _him _there.

At first, when Sanji had led him down an alleyway and they'd slipped in through a back door, Zoro had just sort of assumed they were walking into a bar. What else would be back there, after all. But as soon as he stepped inside, it was crystal clear that _wasn't _the case.

What was this curly-browed idiot getting him into?

They squeezed into a cramped lobby with an old, wretched looking man behind the counter, and everything about it screamed _seedy_. Based on the way the place looked and the posters on the wall—and maybe how Sanji was acting in general—Zoro could figure out that bastard had definitely brought him to a questionable place.

Yeah, Sanji was definitely acting _weird_. Fidgeting just a bit, like he was slightly uncomfortable. Chainsmoking. Well, chainsmoking was nothing new, but he was sucking through cigarettes a lot faster than normal. Zoro wasn't sure if it was impressive or disgusting.

"I don't want to bring _you_ here," Sanji shot back at him, a stream of smoke escaping his mouth, seeming to hover around him. He looked tense. "Look, just go with it, you'll enjoy it."

"Enjoy _what?_" he asked shortly. "Is this a whorehouse or something?"

Zoro hadn't really thought about the term before it rolled off his tongue—it was just the first thing that popped into his head. And it would've explained a lot, if his guess was right. But Sanji actually visibly flinched at the word.

"It _isn't_," Sanji spat. "But if it was—well, just don't fucking call them that, okay?"

Zoro didn't bother to reply. He had no time for Sanji and his dumb sort-of-chivalry. His gaze drifted to the tiled posters behind the old man, and they were all silhouettes of women in erotic poses. Okay, if it wasn't a whorehouse, what the fuck could this be?

"Look, marimo, I don't want you here either," Sanji went on, "but we've only got a little while before we need to get back to the ship."

"That's where I was headed before you dragged me away, shit-cook."

"You sure as hell were _not_." The vein on his forehead popped out a bit as Sanji took yet another long drag from his cigarette, sucking away the last of the nicotine rod.

The old man behind the counter impatiently tapped a key he'd set down in front of Sanji, giving him an impatient glare. "You gonna go in, or what?"

Zoro hadn't even seen them exchange any words. Apparently whatever this was, it was a single service offered. No need for communication.

Without another word, Sanji snatched the key up and disappeared through a worn metal door that led to a dark, musty hallway, like he'd done this a hundred times before or something.

The old man turned his gaze toward Zoro. "What about you?"

"No," was all he could say, because he didn't know what the old man was actually asking him, and he didn't want anything to do with this stupid transaction. He probably should've just fucking left, but instead, he slipped into the metal doorway, keeping up with Sanji. After walking down a dark, twisted hallway for what felt like a long time, the cook stopped in front of a door with a number etched into it. Sanji stuck the key in the keyhole, the door creaked open, and he slipped inside.

For a moment, Zoro thought this might've been like a hotel, but that couldn't be right. He started to follow Sanji into the room, but he was abruptly stopped by a palm jamming into his chest as Sanji spun around.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, shithead?" Sanji asked. They were close enough for him to see a faint twitch in Sanji's lips.

"Following you." Like Sanji had been _forcing_ him to do. He narrowed his eye—his patience was slipping pretty quick.

"This is a _private _booth. If you want to come in here, you can pay for your own."

Booth?

Well, whatever. "I don't know what the fuck you're rambling on about, but I'm not paying for anything," Zoro said flatly.

His hand crept toward his swords—they slipped into this pattern a lot, and they were probably less than three more angry quips before they started to go at it. He was more than ready for the barrage of legs and shoes about to come at him.

But to his surprise, Sanji just kind of... slumped. His shit posture somehow got worse, and he managed to look slouchy and tense all at the same time.

Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes closed. "Oi... Do you have any money, anyway?"

"No, I just spent what I had."

"Shit." He turned away, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"It doesn't matter either way. I just said I wouldn't pay whatever stupid ero-thing this is."

Sanji glared at him, pursing his lips. But Zoro could tell, his gaze wasn't really on him—it was more like he was contemplating something. The fuck was going on?

"Twenty minutes." He spoke like they were bartering and it pissed Zoro off even more.

"You're the one who dragged me here, asshole. You do whatever fucked up thing you're about to do, and I'll see you back at the Sunny." Zoro started to walk away down the hallway from where they'd just come from—at least, he was pretty sure it was where they had just come from. Didn't matter, it'd probably lead to an exit no matter what. Probably.

His mouth ached slightly, and he realized he'd been clenching his jaw.

"Shit," Sanji repeated from somewhere behind him. The cook's hand shot forward, roughly grabbing Zoro by his sleeve before he could get far. "Hold on."

"What?" he asked irritably, wrenching away from Sanji's grip.

Sanji turned to look inside of the booth, which was lit only by a single dim light bulb. It was a small room, probably no bigger that four or five steps across and deep, with a single chair in the middle of it.

"It's not that small," Sanji said hesitantly. Suddenly he looked Zoro in the eye. "Hey, you're a man, right?"

"What the fuck are you—"

"Your dick works?"

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"I mean, you know what it's like, right?" Sanji stuck yet another cigarette between his lips, but didn't light it right away.

Zoro stared at him, mouth hanging open, and he didn't know what the fuck to even say to Sanji at this moment.

"Just fucking come in here," Sanji said moodily.

"Hell no."

"Look, Nami-swan had me promise to get you back to the ship in time," Sanji said, averting his gaze, glaring furiously downward. "So I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Then why the hell bring me here, I was on my way to the ship—"

"Like hell you were. But, okay, just—just fucking humor me, okay. Twenty minutes." He was gnawing on his lip a little peculiarly, and his expression wasn't anything Zoro'd really seen the cook wear before. Like he was really _asking_ for something. And Sanji never asked for anything. Not seriously, anyway.

Zoro was actually a little dumbstruck, because for Sanji, behind all of the airs and appearances he put on most of the time, it was actually kind of... honest. Even though he normally liked to give Sanji a lot of shit, this time, maybe it wouldn't hurt to let it slide.

"Fine," Zoro reluctantly agreed.

Still avoiding his eyes, Sanji walked into the booth, pausing for a second as he looked at the single chair.

"Take it," Zoro sighed. He didn't care if he sat.

Sanji nodded a bit jerkily, before he shifted the chair closer to the wall. As Zoro stepped a little further inside of the room, letting his vision adjust to the dim lighting, he realized it was glass with some kind of shutter over it.

"What the hell is this place, ero-cook?"

"You've never been in one before?" he asked, raising a lighter to his face, finally bringing the flame to the end of his cigarette.

"No." This was definitely supposed to be private. Zoro rubbed at his temple, which was starting to ache. No one made his head hurt like Sanji.

"Well, whatever," he said, exhaling a mouthful of smoke in a huff. "You're going to wander off if I let you out of my sight, so wait there."

"I'll leave right now," Zoro threatened. Especially if he was going to be talked to like he was a damn kid.

"Just stay put, asshole." Sanji took another extended drag on the cigarette.

"You're really going to smoke in here?" Zoro scowled. It wasn't cramped, but it was small.

Something Zoro couldn't read flickered across Sanji's visible eye, and for a moment, the swordsman held his breath.

"Why wouldn't I, marimo?" Sanji replied finally, the expression vanishing, replaced by the scowl that usually painted his face when they spoke. Then he turned his head toward the glass, reached into another pocket of his suit jacket, and pulled out a wad of money. There was a little slot beneath the covered window, and he slid the bills inside.

Zoro raised an eyebrow and then the shutter began to rise. It opened up to a large, circular room, with a single woman in the middle.

"Watch closely," Sanji nodded at the woman. "Even a shitty marimo like you will like this."

And then Sanji was silent, slowly puffing away on his cigarette, the smoke almost choking in tiny room, and Zoro slid into a crouching position, leaning against the back wall. The room was small enough where he was still sort of next to Sanji, although slightly behind him.

Despite Sanji's confident words, Zoro didn't enjoy it. It was a woman—and a moment later, two more women—in a room where people paid money to stare in and see all the erotic shit they did. It wasn't that he had a problem with it; he just wasn't really _into_ it.

Never really had been.

He didn't really know where to look, since he wasn't really that interested in anything. His gaze kept shifting to the cook, and he could see the line of his jaw, and the wrinkles near his mouth as he pressed his lips together; the way he had just a few stray hairs out of place.

As the show—if it could be called that—began to escalate, Zoro noticed a faint pinkness tinging Sanji's cheeks. He burned through his cigarette at an impressive pace, and in no time he was smashing the butt underneath his shoe.

Shit, this was private, and Zoro needed to just leave—get out, leave Sanji alone, because clearly this dark, dank little booth wasn't meant for the two of them. Placing index fingers against his temples, he massaged in a circular pattern, as the ache grew stronger.

His gaze strayed toward Sanji again.

The cook was breathing heavily, biting down on the edge of a nail—and Zoro found himself stupidly fixated on a bead of sweat forming at his brow, until it finally dripped down the side of his cheek. The flush across his face was growing brighter, even in the dim light, illuminated mostly by the light coming through the viewing window.

As the sweat reached his jaw, Zoro noticed the muscles and tendons of his face were tensing and flexing irregularly.

Zoro was staring now, no denying it, but he couldn't really look away. The heave of Sanji's chest, rising and falling. His hand, creeping downward—then halting with a faint tremble, and being forced to rest on his knee, only to be picked up again and tucked under folded arms. An endless, uncomfortable dance of Sanji struggling to figure out what to do with his hands.

Yeah, Zoro should have left, but he was utterly mesmerized by his fingers. They were graceful and precise—if there was one thing he could give that shitty cook, it was that.

"You—you know what kind of place this is, right, shitty swordsman?" Sanji spoke suddenly, breaking the stifling silence. His normally smooth, sort of easy-to-listen-to voice sounded unusual, almost strained. "I mean—"

"I'm not a fucking kid," Zoro interrupted sharply. His eye fell to one of the women's feathered pink shoes before he shut his eye. "Do what you need to do."

Dumbass.

But really, why did that idiot bring him here, then.

The straining silence between them expanded again, and Zoro tried to ignore the other man—it would make things easier, if he could just do that. Sanji sat there, unusually still for a while, but when Sanji's hand began to move again, it was with purpose. With one hand, he unbuttoned his pants with a single fluid pluck. It was dark and shadowy, but Zoro saw the outline of his hardened cock, and for some reason the air felt a little thick. Maybe it was all the lingering smoke, choking him. There weren't supposed to be two people in this space—that was probably why, there wasn't enough oxygen flowing in.

The air was cold but Zoro's face felt kind of warm.

As Sanji touched himself, there was a barely detectable hitch in his steady breathing. In fact, everything was slight and subtle—the way the blond man pursed his lips together, the faint crinkle in his brow. His breathing grew quicker, along with the motion of his hand.

Zoro still watched him from the corner of his eye.

He shifted his squatting position slightly. Zoro wasn't quite sitting on the dirty floor, just resting his body again the wall, but the position was suddenly becoming a bit, well... difficult.

His irritation turned toward himself—nothing should have been appealing about this situation.

Zoro watched the side of Sanji's face, saw the expressions he made, how his lips were parted slightly as his breathing grew heavier, and the way he curled his bottom lip at certain moments.

He hadn't meant to watch him—and he sure as fuck didn't intend to let that first wave of arousal happen. The growing tingling in his core made him feel like his blood was rushing through his veins a little more intensely than usual, and he didn't know why he'd allowed himself to be in this situation.

Shifting again, Zoro stood up a little more, because squatting was hard when _he _was hard. At least his loose-fitting clothes were adequate at concealing shit like that.

Sanji closed his eyes, and the expression he made—it was so _different_, and Zoro couldn't really tell why, but he inadvertently sucked in a noisy breath that sounded almost like a gasp.

It was painfully loud in the quiet booth. Why the hell did he do that?

"What?" Sanji asked, a bit breathlessly, a flicker of irritation in his tone.

"What do you think," he muttered, not really thinking, just responding.

And, fuck. He needed to stop speaking, too, apparently.

Sanji suddenly chuckled. "See, this is good, isn't it?" he said, grinning as he turned toward him, nodding toward the window, and Zoro wanted to knock that stupid I-told-you-so expression right off of his idiot face.

Zoro clenched his jaw, willing himself not to speak, praying Sanji wouldn't speak anymore. The throb in his head was turning into a full-flown pound, and the other ache—well, it was impossible to ignore as well.

"Come on, you think they're hot, too."

Zoro's lips started to part, ready to disagree, as he turned toward Sanji again—and he realized that the other man's eyes were fixed on his own crotch. Zoro stopped breathing for a second, looking down; sure, he felt it, but his clothes should've hidden it, beneath layers of fabric and folds.

And it didn't... There was the outline of his erection, plain as day. Shit.

"Told you," Sanji smirked, a little triumphantly, and Zoro unthinkingly averted his gaze and blurted out the thing on the tip of his tongue.

"It's not that."

The fuck, he's just told himself not to speak. It was like he just couldn't let Sanji be right—couldn't let him have that smug I-told-you-so moment. But dammit, _that_ wasn't important right now—and he willed Sanji to ignore what he said, to ignore him entirely, and focus on the stupid fucking women who were touching each other and making stupid, fake faces, and Zoro just didn't get the appeal.

But, goddamn it, Sanji didn't ignore him.

"...Hah?" Sanji cocked his head slightly, his face contorting into an ugly frown; the way it did when they started one of their ridiculous arguments.

That bastard was here for a reason, why the hell was he paying so much attention to him, anyway. Just pay attention to the damn women, shit-cook.

But since he wasn't, there was only one thing Zoro could do.

"Nothing. I'm leaving," Zoro said, focusing on the filthy wooden floor planks, stained from years of dirt and god-knows-what else.

He had to get out of there, escape from the hot, choking room, from the tension that didn't really make sense, that he didn't want to deal with—

Sanji's hand snapped forward and grabbed Zoro's wrist.

"Wait."

Zoro clenched his teeth tighter, balling his hands into fists, every muscle in his body tensing. He didn't like the demand of Sanji's tone, didn't like the feeling of hot, bony fingers clutching his wrists so tightly, and he didn't like the way he wasn't reflexively pulling away. Like he should have been.

"What do you mean, it's not that?"

"It's nothing."

"You didn't say it's _nothing_," Sanji emphasized. "You said it's not _that_."

Zoro looked at him, straining to keep his expression impassive. His eye flickered to the window for a moment—totally unintentional, he didn't actually want to let Sanji know what _"that"_ referred to—and dammit, Sanji's eyes followed his, and they both briefly stared at the three women in their ever-increasing state of debauchery.

When Zoro found Sanji's gaze again, his stomach twisted at the expression he saw looking back at him.

Shit.

Zoro averted his eye, hand on the doorknob again, and he twisted his body until his back was facing Sanji and he felt lithe fingers release their grip on his wrist. For some reason, the skin there felt dumbly hot. He had to get the fuck out of there.

"I'll wait outside." He probably should've said nothing.

"Why bother leaving?" Sanji replied, in a weird breathy voice, right in Zoro's ear. And Sanji moved closer to him, _far _too close. A shiver ran up Zoro's spine.

An arm wrapped around him, nimble hand creeping across his chest, snaking downwards along the length of his body. It didn't stop until just before it reached the bulge in his clothes, and Zoro almost choked on nothing when he felt Sanji's lips touch the back of his neck. Coarse facial hair—that stupid fucking goatee—and the stubble from where he'd probably shaved earlier felt rough on his neck, as Sanji sucked on his skin before biting down.

"Not going to answer me?" Sanji asked, his voice a pleasantly low rumble near his ear.

Zoro was at a fucking loss. A part of him wanted to shove the cook away—maybe right through the streaked glass and into the den of women—and scream at him every obscenity he knew. But there was this other part of him that felt stupidly amped up and eager, with some kind of dumb passion, like there were things in that idiot's lithe body he _needed_ at this moment, possibly more than anything, even oxygen. A battle of his mind and body—

And goddammit, his mind was losing.

"That's fine," Sanji went on, and with each uttered syllable, lips danced against Zoro's neck. "You can go, if that's what you want."

Then Sanji stepped back, putting a small amount of distance between them. For a moment, Zoro was frozen. Like just did not—could not—figure out what to do with his body.

He actually felt a little angry. Fucking Sanji, wording it like that. To put it in his own hands. Because this wasn't a question of what he wanted. Zoro _had _to get the fuck out of there. He had to, there was no choice, because this was _not _a line they could cross. Zoro willed his feet to move, willed his hand to finish turning the door open. Just _move_.

Because he couldn't let himself, he just couldn't—

He couldn't—_Fuck._

He cursed the cook, cursed himself—even as he spun around and tangled his fingers in Sanji's stupid messy mop of blond hair, clutching the back of his neck, holding him in place as he crushed his lips against the other man's.

Zoro impatiently opened his mouth, and Sanji's lips seemed to part at the same time. That bastard, he always seemed to be able to read him and react with lightning speed. It was infuriating when they fought—but right now, holy shit, it was kind of exhilarating.

It was dizzying and Zoro knew he would regret every second of it.

The smell of smoke permeated Sanji's hair and clothes, and the taste of fresh cigarettes was a little offensive to his tongue, but Zoro greedily kept their mouths together. The rough, frantic kiss lasted far too long. Sanji's tongue brushing his gums made his knees feel a little weak, which was dumb, and his hands slid behind Sanji's suit jacket, finding his shoulder blades. It was for balance, mostly, and maybe just a little bit for something else.

Their lips parted and Sanji slid his body closer, his lips resting on the edge of Zoro's left earlobe, and when he spoke, his breath made the metal pieces of his earrings jingle ever so slightly.

"So I do more for you than these women, huh, shitty swordsman."

Sanji spoke with a throaty purr, a tone Zoro had never heard before, and he sucked in a tremulous breath before he could find his voice to respond. As he did, he felt Sanji's skillful fingertips snaking down the back of his robe.

"I never fucking said that."

"Yeah you did, dumbass," Sanji insisted, his mouth brushing against Zoro's cheek, stopping at Zoro's own mouth. "Just not out loud."

Sanji teasingly bit into Zoro's lower lip, his tongue playfully licking the little bit of skin he held in between his teeth.

Zoro inwardly cursed Sanji—and his own heart, for beating so damn fast.

Then he found his hands clutching fistfuls of fabric on the back of Sanji's shirt as he unconsciously balled them into fists. "Fuck you, ero-cook."

"Sounds like a plan, _ero__-swordsman._"

Shit. Why the hell did Sanji's voice sound like that right now.

For three painful heartbeats, Zoro didn't hear anything but the roar of blood in his ears.

Zoro knew there probably weren't a lot of positive things that could be said about himself—and that was fine, he was more than satisfied with who he was and what he was working toward, but as far as the characteristics that were generally considered good in a person, he didn't have a lot going on.

He was strong, he was loyal, and above all... he was _disciplined_. In fact, that was the only reason he had anything at all—it was because of that discipline that allowed him to cast aside or ignore anything interfering with his goals. So, stuff like this, he always ignored. But this time—he could feel his willpower crumbling, just rotting away. Fucking Sanji, why did he have to be so unexpectedly willing.

After the third heartbeat, Zoro gave in.

He kissed Sanji like he needed it to live, and it was kind of dumb how all of the tightness and resistance that had been building in his chest just vanished, replaced by that mounting pressure in his core. Zoro could meditate his desire away, and usually did. He wasn't familiar with the feeling of letting go, but damn—it was something, maybe. Maybe not. He couldn't really think straight.

The details of their grimy location faded into the background. The stifling, smokey air. The cold that seemed to radiate from the stone and mortar. The faint, barely audible music that most likely drifted from the area behind the glass. For a second Zoro idly wondered if the women could see them through the window as well, but then he decided he didn't really care. And then he forgot about them entirely.

Every one of his senses was engrossed in Sanji. He'd never felt this preoccupied with another person before—well, in a fight, sure, but _this _was something different. Sanji's hands were nimble and precise, and it was actually a little bit unfair, just how skillful he was at working with a body he wasn't used to.

Like he knew Zoro or something.

Sanji was such an asshole.

Earlier, Zoro had been struggling, but now he knew exactly what to do with his hands. He'd never felt Sanji like this, never touched or smelled him those closely, and he wasn't even sure if he'd ever had any desire to. Okay, maybe there'd been a few times—things had happened and they'd gotten kind of caught up in weird moments and circumstances. But the contact hadn't been intentional, if there'd been any contact at all. Zoro couldn't even remember how he'd felt. It'd been weird, and unwanted, but—he had never been this turned on.

Now, the contact was deliberate. Zoro got to _explore _him.

Mouths met and parted, hands found different places all over their bodies, and they both breathed heavily.

Sanji was shorter, but so slightly, they'd actually fought before over whether the difference existed. Zoro was bulkier, but what Sanji lacked in muscle definition, he made up for in flexibility—and goddamn the bastard was flexible. In fact, the way his body could snake against Zoro, curving around and over, his mouth finding skin Zoro didn't expect him to reach. He was fucking limber, and Zoro couldn't help but be in awe, just a little. Couldn't help but be turned on, a fucking lot.

Fuck.

His shoulder was in Sanji's mouth, and Zoro blindly fumbled with Sanji's leather belt, working it free of the buckle, slipping it out of the loops of his pants and tossing it onto the floor. He wasn't trying to touch that place, but he could feel the bulge, feel how the cook was just as turned on as he was. It was probably because of the show they were supposed to be watching—yet Sanji's back was to the window, and when his mouth covered Zoro's, the swordsman opened his eye and saw that Sanji's eyes were closed, face scrunched in concentration. He was seeing with his hands, and they were practically everywhere on his body all at once.

Sanji shoved away all the clothing on Zoro's upper half before pulling his hands back to shrug off his jacket and work at the buttons at the front of his shirt. His hands were working in some kind of high-speed frenzy but he wasn't accomplishing a lot because every couple of seconds, his hands slipped over to Zoro's exposed skin, just _touching_, and every time he did, Zoro felt the breath stupidly hitch in his throat.

It was so fast and so slow all at the same time. Which was dumb, if he really thought about it—but he didn't want to think. Probably couldn't.

Finally—or maybe suddenly—that stupid collared shirt was open, and both men struggled to shimmy it off of his slender body as rapidly as possible. As soon as Sanji's neck was exposed, Zoro's lips fell against it like it was magnetic. Their bare chests pressed against each other and Zoro started pulling off the rest of his own clothes.

That same nimble hand that'd been touching him fucking everywhere found his erection, and Zoro threw his head back, swallowing back the moan that was ready to leap out of his throat. That bastard was so unfair.

"So," Sanji spoke suddenly, leaning forward way too close, yet somehow still not close enough, and there was this annoying mischief in his visible eye as he asked, "you still going to leave?"

"Fuck you," Zoro said, a bit reflexively, because he didn't know what else to say. And then Sanji's grip around his cock tightened and he couldn't have figured out what else to say anyway.

It was only a matter of time before Sanji's clothes were also removed and it was just them, naked and touching and fucking _hands_, and Zoro felt like he literally could not hold back anymore—he fucking did, somehow, but he was growing increasingly impatient.

Yet at the back of his mind, he was aware of how Sanji was a total idiot when it came to ladies—really, look at where they were right now—and that awareness made Zoro hesitate, just a little bit. Tongues and hands were a hell of a lot different than what this was leading up to. The idiot ero-cook may not have really thought through what he was getting himself into.

But fuck it, that dumbass had been the one to initiate all this anyway—and he sure as hell didn't have a problem rubbing his hands all over his fucking dick. When Zoro's hand crept around Sanji's ass, the cook didn't flinch or seem surprised, and it dawned on Zoro that even though Sanji acted like he didn't care about anything but women, he was no stranger to this sort of thing. Which was actually maybe kind of surprising. Just a little.

It was around that time that Sanji started doing that obnoxious thing again, too—the one where he predicated and anticipated Zoro's every move. It was damned annoying in a fight, but Zoro had to admit, it was a huge relief when it came to this. Their bodies worked pretty well together and Zoro totally loathed the thought of it. As his eager cock slipped inside of Sanji, and he was barely able to hold back the pressure inside of his core he so desperately wanted to release, he had a dangerous thought: he'd want to do this again sometime. A lot of times.

Damn stupid ass ero-cook, why did he have to be so fucking _limber _anyway? As they thrust against each other, Sanji curved his back and hooked his long legs around Zoro's waist, forcibly holding him against Zoro. Even as they found this intense rhythm that was bringing Zoro to his peak quickly, it would've been impossible for him to slip out while caught up in that vice-like grip that was Sanji's powerful legs.

Meanwhile, Sanji was twisting his body, forcing their mouths to intermittently lock together, even as they kept up their frantic, frenzied pace. Zoro's brain wasn't even working anymore, he was just sucked into the cook's body, figuratively and literally, and there was nothing in his line of vision other than Sanji's flushed face, sweat beading down his forehead.

He liked it.

Zoro impulsively reached forward and pushed the mop of hair back from Sanji's face, wanting to see the full breadth of that heated look. It would've been a good opportunity to make fun of those stupid-ass eyebrows, but all Zoro could pay attention to was that expression he was making. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

He held out so long, but then he couldn't anymore, and maybe that was good anyway because Sanji was looking like he was at his limit, too, and Zoro knew the discomfort of coming first in Sanji's position.

Zoro came hard and loud and he didn't even know what part of Sanji he was touching, he was just grasping at his shoulders, hair, chest, whatever he could, and Sanji wasn't far behind him. Shuddering through the last quake of his orgasm, he felt the hot spray on his abdomen as Sanji dug his fingernails into his back, hard.

He couldn't think or say anything or even move for awhile, stuck in that weird post-climax limbo where his brain was having trouble starting to churn normally again. After who knew how long, they were able to pull away from each other.

They sat in silence, sitting on the ground with nothing but Zoro's clothes between them and the filthy floor. He didn't really care right now, although he'd regret it later.

That probably wasn't just applicable to his dirty clothes.

Sanji leaned forward to grab his suit jacket, fishing out a cigarette and a lighter. Zoro had seen him smoke an impossible number of cigarettes before, but after he lit it, he drew in what may have been the most indulgent-looking drag Zoro'd ever seen him take. Oddly, he was smiling, with a sort of smug look of satisfaction. Zoro couldn't look away.

The window shutter was back in place, concealing whatever erotic scene laid beyond, and Zoro didn't really care about that—but, he'd never cared about it or what was behind it in the first place. His gaze was fixed on Sanji, who was regarding the covered window tiredly, although he didn't seem the least bit concerned that he hadn't gotten to see much of the very thing he'd paid to see.

Sanji looked at him again, and Zoro couldn't hide the fact that he'd been staring.

"Tch, you look so dumb," Zoro snorted, forcibly turning his head away as he leaned back against the wall, and he could feel a drop of sweat slipping down along the lines of his chest.

"Nothing tastes better than a cigarette after sex," Sanji said, and Zoro glanced over at his lips; flushed pink, perfectly balancing the cigarette as he pronounced each word.

"That's a dumb thing for a cook to say."

Sanji glanced over at Zoro, and he grinned again in a way that made Zoro wish he'd stop doing that. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and held it out toward Zoro.

"Here."

"_Hah?_ No," Zoro frowned, looking at him like he was being handed something disgusting, but Sanji kept his hand outstretched. Finally, Zoro caved, reaching out and grabbing the cigarette.

He stared at the filter, thinking about Sanji's mouth pressed against it, and brought it between his lips, taking a shallow puff—not even letting it get into his lungs, really, just letting the smoke fill his mouth. He wanted to confirm something. Not Sanji's dumbass comment, just—something else.

"Alright, give it back," Sanji said after a moment, holding out hand, impatiently waiting for his cigarette's return.

"Hold on." Zoro pinched it between his forefinger and middle finger, holding it a safe distance away from his body.

"What? Just give me my damn cig—" he started to say, but Zoro shut him up as he pulled him into another kiss. Fingertips of his free hand brushed the side of his neck, finding the back of Sanji's head, and it was slightly damp from sweat.

Earlier it was like a frantic rush of emotions and urges, boiling and spilling over, but this time, Zoro took his time. He drew himself closer slowly, deliberately, relishing in each detail.

The texture of his lips, a little cracked, but still soft and pleasant. The way his tongue moved, slowed down from their earlier breakneck pace, purposeful in its eagerness. Not to mention his hands on his bare skin—even though it was just his arm that the cook had touched a hundred times before, it felt heated and different.

But most importantly, there was the taste of his mouth. Zoro drew out the kiss, and when Sanji let out an unintentional murmur, Zoro pulled away and broke contact, leaning again the wall.

"We probably need to go."

After all, they had to get back to the ship. And Zoro'd confirmed what he'd wanted to—the cigarette tasted better on Sanji's mouth.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I know I haven't posted any new stories for awhile-most of my time has been going toward Make No Mistake, the OP college AU I am co-authoring with okama-kenpo. The story is being posted under author name "dickyang" on ff and ao3, so please check it out! The first few chapters are posted (August - November) and December will be posted soon~~~**


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